Hi. My name is Chivarel, Chivarel Breeze. You, know? Like, the word 'chivalrous'. That's what mom always tells me whenever the questions comes up. And, yes, this is my journal; the other colts in pre-k class used to make fun of me for it. They said 'Why are you writing in a diary? Only fillies do that!'. But, that was a long time ago; 'bout six, seven years? Probably, eight.
I was in my single digits then. I'm ten, now, going on eleven soon. Now, I could just ramble on and on, but I don't think I'll have enough time to. So, instead of leaving you here scratchin' your head, I'll tell you from the start ...
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"Don't forget your saddlebags, honey!" My mom reminded me for the eleventeenth time so far. She's a nice mother, but, sometimes, I could really understand the relationship she shares with her name. Spitfire. She's a caring, protective mom, like all should be, one minute then, when you finally burn her last nerve, she's back into her fiery, drill sergeant self the next. Sometimes, when I stay up real late, I could hear her crying from her room. Mom's always been so happy, so bold, proud! Shoot, when that deadbeat left without so much as a 'See you later.' she was never the same. All stressed, sleep-deprived-looking, cautious, paranoid, but, heck, nothing and nopony could break her spirit. And I mean not anything.
"Yeah, mom. I got it!" I was packing all the supplies I would need for my new school. You see, we don't move, I move. Whenever I get expelled or Mom just thinks I'm being bullied. There are a lot of bullies in schools. A lot. Like, these colts, Dumbbell and Hoops or something? I don't know, I don't remember their names. Those two and some other guy I can't be bothered with to learn his name or even something close to it decide whether you're 'in' or 'out'. Sometimes, I always think, 'Is this life? Just another game of winners and losers? Am I a loser, a winner? Or maybe I something else.
"You have your lunch?!" Mom asked the question another time, as well. She's also been a bit forgetful, lately, too.
"Yes, Mom!" I shouted back as loud as I could to her. I heard her hoofsteps padding against the soft, cloud floour of the hallway.
"That's 'Yes, ma'am'," she smoothly said as she walked over to my bed. Mom laid down across it and smiled. It was the kind of smile a pony gives when they've been pushed too many times and just shrugs it off.
I smiled right back at her. "Yes, ma'am," I whispered out. Then, all of a sudden without any warning whatsoever, she leapt at me! Grabbing my sides in a relentless onslaught of up and down motions, 'ticking my ribs' so to speak. "Oh, no! You're not gonna' get me giggling that easily!" It was no use as I already laughed out the retaliation. Mom never gives up, so the next thing she did was 'raspberries'. And, of course, I ended up chuckling like a rooster at morning when he woke everypony up. "Alright! Alright! I give, I give!" I was out of breath and working up a sweat when she finally ceased.
"Ah, I can't believe you're going to an older school, you're growing up too fast," Mom signed as she stroked my gold and orange mane. It was the exact same color of her own and her tail, too. Though, my mane and tail styles are a bit for bedraggled, but I still think it's cool, all kind of sleeked back and stuff. My coat is the same color as my mom's, also. Light gold; I'm like the physically male version of my mom! Which is weird as I reread the last sentence.
"I'm not that old if you can still get me to giggle like that!" Mom just playfully shoved my face away and I ended up on the floor; I laughed, she apologized. She always apologizes when she thinks she hurt me; always the worrier with me.
"Get ready, pack your bag, eat your breakfast, then we gotta go and fly to school. 'K? Go! Ya' got five minutes!" She left the room and last thing I saw was the flames consuming a lightening bolt of a Cutie Mark. I didn't get mine, yet. Mom says 'You don't wait for a Cutie Mark, a Cutie Mark waits for you.' Eh, I want a Mark, but not as badly as other fillies and colts. I guess I'm different. Different's good, though? Right?
With my saddlebags packed and my jacket underneath I ate my oat cereal with mom and we got ready to go. I wear a leather jacket, a black one. I keep the collar so as to not bother my neck and to keep me from looking like bad colt. I want to look cool 'cause I don't really have that many friends ...well, no friends at all, at the moment. All my 'friends', and I quote it like that because they weren't true friends, were left at my old school; I was sad as I left, not one of them even said goodbye. So, anyway, I like me. The way I look, I mean. Except for my eyes. They're the only things that remind me of him. My deadbeat dad's greenish-blue eyes; the thing is I only have one of his eyes, the other is my mom's. Yeah, I have one orange and one green-blue. I never did like the look of it. So much that in our house the mirrors we have is a hoof-held one and a regular sink mirror in the bathroom. And I especially feel bad when somepony points out my 'defect', I think that's what it's called. I sometimes ask Mom if I could get colored contacts, but she always ends up shooting down my argument. 'Everypony has something that makes someony unique, this is yours.' She gives real good advice, but I don't always feel like I need advice. I'm my own pony, and an own pony doesn't need help.
"Ready to fly?" Mom broke me out of my reverie. She was at the edge of our cloud home, her wings flared.
We have these races every time I go to school, Mom says, 'A good race'll get the adrenaline pumping, adrenaline pumping means the brain is moving. And you need your brain moving to do the best you can in school.' See? Wanted advice. I flared my wings and soaked in the feeling of the warm, Spring morning wind blowing past each of my feathers and in every crevice. I reveled as the clean air filed my lungs as I inhaled and happily sighed as the carbon dioxide exited from my snout. My eyes shot open and a rush of euphoria washed over me as the rays of dawn's light warned my face. Forget it, this is what matters now. I gave Mom a toothy grin and said with the most genuine relaxed tone I could muster, "Only if you are."
And, with a shake of our tails we took off. Now, I could tell you all about our race and who won: we tied, but I have to make this quick, I don't have much time.
I'm a really good flier, like, great. And I didn't get that good just by Mom helping; I trained everyday, long and hard. I would push myself to my limits and then some. I'm even a little bit sore today after yesterday's workout. I walk, run, do wingups, situps, hoofups, wing-situps, jump rope, jog, run, lift, track and field, pull ups, stretch, do laps, occasionally swim in private, short jumps, long jumps, and so on. I also go to the gym; I don't have a membership, but the owner their is real kind to me. Ieven sweep up around the place if I feel up to it. When ponies ask what I want to be I tell them 'I want to be the leader of and be in an acrobatic stunts ponies team', then they'd tell me that there was no such thing around and I'd tell them 'Then, I'll make one and it'll be the best, the most loyal, kind, generous, optimistic, honest group of magical Pegasi Equestria has ever had the pleasure to have'. That's all I want: to train even the worst of fliers into skilled, agile, confident flying machines. And the real perk is knowing everyday that you inspire somepony to do their best, that ponies down on their luck or when the world beat them down and they never got back up could just train with the best to do their best and be their best.
Anyway, we flapped our wings a few more times in synchronization before landing on the cloud-based school's front entrance ground. Flying with each other for as long as I've been her son, which is the day I was born, we know how the other flies, all their skills, the exact moment what move the other will do; it's pretty freaky, but really cool.
"Now, try your best, make friends, and, please, Chivarel, do not get in trouble; for your own sake and my insanity," Mom smiled at me with her orange eyes gleaming. She sleeked back my messy mane and I rolled my eyes.
"Don't you mean 'sanity'?" I asked in an innocently curious tone of voice. I shook my head a bit and my mane returned to its pushed-back curls.
"Exactly," she brushed my mane back again, we said our goodbyes, and shooed me off to class.
Whoowhee, my first day at my new school would sure be one I'll never forget.